Decade
by Silent Epiphany
Summary: Ten years. That's all the time he was given before death would come to claim the soul it had been promised. Yaoi, 1x2. Rated T for language and other fun things to come.
1. Chapter 1

_**"Decade"**_

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em, just enjoy playing with 'em.

**Archiving: **Be my guest. :D Just let me know.

**Warnings: **Shonen-ai, eventual yaoi, dark, angst?, language (in spots), **SPOILERS **for Duo's Episode Zero and parts of series.

**Pairings: **Implied 2+OC, eventual 2+1/2x1.

**Author's Notes:**

This was a plot bunny that bit me some time ago. I'm sure this fic isn't entirely original and that someone somewhere has written something at least akin to this, but hey, it's a 15 year-old fandom, what do you expect? *shrugs* Anyhow, I wanted to write this, so I did. This opening bit is just going to be long enough to cover a short prologue and first chapter. Prologue is Duo POV. Enjoy! :D

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_**Prologue: The End Begins**_

No night had ever been as beautiful as tonight was, with the stars hanging overhead and the moon bathing all beneath it in its silvery glow. A soft, cooling breeze stroked along my forehead and cheeks, brushing strands of hair across my line of sight.

As I stood on the ledge of the building staring out into the night sky, I drew in a deep breath of that crisp, cold air as though it was the best I'd ever had, and released it slowly, savoring it.

Perhaps what made me find an otherwise average evening so spectacular was that this was to be the last night of my life.

Everything that had happened over the past ten years led me to this point. This exact spot where I stood, one boot-clad foot hovering above nothingness; all I needed to do was take that final step forward and bring everything to a close.

How did I get to this point, you ask?

Let me start from the beginning…

_**CHAPTER ONE: Breathe Again**_

"_Get back here, thief!"_

A gaggle of angry shopkeepers thundered down a crowded street, one armed with a bat, another with a rope. This time, they were going to catch the culprit behind the recent thefts from local food stores, and when they did, they would make sure he learned his lesson. Just ahead of them, weaving deftly through stunned bystanders, a nameless, raggedy-haired orphan boy huffed audibly as he did his best to evade his pursuers.

Upon being discovered stealing food, he'd fled, dropping the items he'd procured in the process. Still, that didn't satisfy them; they weren't out to get their items back, they were after _him._

Once he was satisfied that he'd put a wide enough margin between himself and his assailants, the boy scrambled around a corner and into a discreet, narrow alleyway between two buildings, hiding himself in the secrecy of the shade they provided. There, he pressed himself to a wall and waited warily until his pursuers passed him by.

Once they had, the violet-eyed orphan boy slid to the ground, his dirty hands clutching at his chest desperately as his breath came in noisy gasps. He'd forgotten exactly how much the disease that had taken up residence in his lungs as of late had limited his level of exertion until the realization that he could no longer catch his breath set in. By then it was far too late.

He'd really done it this time. He needed to move toward home—even if it meant having to crawl on his hands and knees to get there. Unfortunately, not having sufficient oxygen made his muscles reluctant to obey such commands. _'Come on,'_ he urged himself silently, _'don't quit on me now…' _

But his body simply wouldn't listen.

Cool concrete chilled his side as he sank further onto the filthy floor of the alleyway. Was this the end? Was he meant to die alone and cold on the dirty pavement, gasping for breaths to no avail? It was beginning to seem like a real possibility. After all, he'd only survived this long by pure luck, and sooner or later, everyone's luck ran out.

"I don't…" the boy gasped, "I don't wanna die…"

The dizziness and nausea of oxygen deprivation washed over him, making him feel as though he was slowly fading from the world of the living…a place he didn't want to leave yet. But instead of the inviting warmth and white light of death, there was only blackness, and an eerie, bone-chilling cold.

_You don't want to die? I can arrange that._

Amethyst eyes followed the sound of the words over to a dark shadow. It hadn't been there before, he was certain of it. Had someone found him? Was there someone there?

No.

Not someone_, _some_thing._

_I'm more than willing to help you. I'll even share some of my talents with you. All you have to do in exchange is one simple favor._

He felt more than a little odd answering…but at that moment, he was desperate. "What favor?"

_You have to kill one specific person for me. The task couldn't be simpler._

Killing? Part of him disagreed with the idea.

Another part of him would do anything to stay alive, even if required that he exchange the life of an innocent to prolong his own.

The boy rasped, "Who?"

_The one who is known only by a codename. You have ten years from today to find him and take his life._

"How will I know when I've found him?"

_Believe me, you'll know._

Before he could get out another question, a great blackness swept over his eyesight enveloping all he saw, and his body finally gave way.

…

In a flash, he was back within the shelter of the semi-demolished and barely-standing building he called home. A boy with straight blonde hair hanging down nearly to his shoulders gazed at him with anxious eyes of an enchanting light jade color.

"He awake yet, Solo?" another child questioned from somewhere out of sight; the green-eyed boy nodded in reply.

"You okay, bub?" Solo queried, "That fever a'yours finally broke, so you should be feelin' better now."

The boy could feel his friend dab at his face with a stained, damp rag.

"How'd I get here?" the chestnut-haired boy asked hoarsely. It was a very viable question. One moment he was lying in a dirty alleyway dying as he talked to shadows, and now this? Just what was going on?

A squeeze to his right hand redirected his thought process. Someone was holding his hand; someone other than Solo. He shifted his indigo gaze in that direction to see another one of the orphans staring back at him attentively.

She was a young girl, only about a year or two his elder; a streetwise little brat with the eyes of the bluest oceans, and the mouth of a sailor. Wild and unkempt hair of rich mahogany hung in wavy locks, persistently trying to hide her face and her eyes of deep, endless sapphire. Since she had no given name, the others called her "Kit", which was common L2 slang for "pretty". Anyone who set laid sight on her would agree that the moniker suited her very well.

They hadn't known each other long, but in that short time, the nameless orphan boy had become quite attached to her; more accurately, he loved her. But a boy his age knew not much of the concept, let alone how to express it. So, showed her in the only ways a six year-old boy knew how: He teased her, picked on her, and told her she had cooties. Amazingly, it somehow only served to strengthen their bond, and she quickly became his partner in crime.

"Kit came and got me when she found you lying in the street," Solo answered solemnly, "You gotta be more careful, kid."

He gave the boy a gentle pat to the chest before walking away, leaving him alone with his female counterpart.

The chestnut-haired orphan slowly tried to sit up, but the girl halted him.

"You heard Solo—you gotta rest a while," she encouraged, "You're real sick."

"I feel fine," the boy insisted.

Her blue eyes rolled. "Don't go pullin' the macho act on me, kiddo-I can see right through it."

"Really, Kit, I'm fine," the boy smiled, "I promise."

In truth, he _did_ mysteriously feel much better…almost as though his illness had somehow been cured. Of course, he knew the next time he was needed to do something important—such as procuring food like he had been not long ago—the illness would present itself once more. His gut told him the only reason he felt well at the moment was because he wasn't exerting himself.

"You really fuckin' scared me, y'know…" she murmured. "Layin' there in the gutter like that…you gotta learn to take better care of y'self." Her pink lips twisted into a small smirk as her eyes dropped downward almost bashfully. "…We'd all miss ya if you bought the farm."

She would never know exactly how close he had come to it, either.

…

That night the children gathered around a crackling bonfire as they always did, using it both for the purpose of keeping warm, as well as telling scary ghost stories. The violet-eyed orphan, who was usually eager to regale his companions with embellished tales of sheer terror, was unusually quiet. Solo understood, and took his place for the evening, fabricating a chilling account of a chance encounter with a spirit from another realm.

The chestnut-haired boy listened intently at first, watching the way the flickering, dancing flames cast shadows over his companion's dirt-mottled face at random.

Over the course of their friendship, Solo had imparted all the wisdom he had to offer. The young orphan hadn't forgotten a word of it…

"_Three things you gotta be to succeed in this life, kid," Solo stated flatly, "Just remember the three Qs: quick, quiet, and cute."_

_The smaller boy perked a brow. "Cute?"_

_His companion nodded. "Yep. Sometimes cute kids can get shit for free just cuz they're cute. Cuter you are, the more you get."_

"_That stuff's for girls," the violet-eyed orphan rebuked with a scoff, "Why be cute when you can steal?"_

_His companion chuckled heartily. "My thoughts exactly, bub. You an' me, we gon' get along real well."_

_The chestnut-haired boy grinned. "I don't think I'd pass for cute anyhow."_

_Solo gave himself time to think over his words before he responded. Ruffling the boy's ratty chestnut locks lovingly with a worn palm, he smiled brightly to his young apprentice. "Y'know what, kid? I do. I really do. And if you ever get a chance to get outta here, you take it. Hear me?"_

Even if he had the chance to leave, he didn't have the desire. It didn't matter that they didn't have food; it didn't matter that they lived in a condemned building that continually crumbled around them as days went by. What he had was something worth more than any amount of material possessions: He had Solo. He had Kit. He had a community. And he had love. If nothing ever changed, he knew he could be happy just having those things.

But nothing was ever the same after that night.

Despite the boy's best efforts, his friends one by one all succumb to the same disease he had somehow evaded. Had he known he'd extended his life only to see Kit, Solo, and all those he knew and loved wither and die before his eyes, he would have gladly let himself pass in the alleyway.

In all too little time, the L2 Plague turned the ground floor of the building he called home into something of a crude mausoleum.

He hadn't had the tools to dig or a place to put them, let alone the strength to carry them there if he did happen to stumble upon a suitable spot. Instead, he'd done the best he could with what he could attain: Covered them with beautiful quilts and blankets he'd stolen, and adorned them with the most exquisite flowers he could find. Even after they wilted and dried he wouldn't touch them, but always brought more. Especially for Solo, the boy who had taken him in and given him a place to call home and someone to call family; he had the grandest display of them all.

He no longer had any desire to be in that empty building since it had become nothing more than a shrine to departed friends, but had nowhere else to go. And so, he lived in what remained of the attic, under the shelter of a partially-demolished roof, sleeping on unstable, holey flooring. Each night he slept alone, and in deafening silence.

Until an evening came when the sound of voices floated in from somewhere outside.

"_Are you sure this is the building you traced them to?"_

"_I'm sure."_

"_My word…"_

Peering through a hole in the floorboards, curious violet eyes could see a trio of men enter: two of them younger, one very much their elder, dressed in solid black. He appeared to be some sort of religious figurehead; perhaps a Priest of some sort.

As his eyes scanned over the grim display before him, the elderly man crossed himself. "Dear me…they've all passed…lost to the Plague."

The remaining orphan hovered silently above them, deep in thought. Even though he had just barely reached the tender age of six he was still considered a wanted criminal, as he'd stolen from just about every shopkeeper in the colony. Eventually these strange intruders would search the building for survivors, and it was only a matter of time until he was caught. If they did, who knew what would happen? He most certainly didn't want to find out. He needed to make his escape, and quickly.

But, as soon as he shifted his weight, the boards beneath his feet protested loudly. So much for making it out undiscovered…

"Is there someone here? Is someone alive?" a man queried.

"Go away!" came the response from the young boy.

"We're not here to hurt you," the Priest called out, "We're here to help."

"I don't believe you," the boy snapped.

"Why don't you come down here and see for yourself? You can always run away, can't you?"

Though the orphan hated to admit it, the old man had a point. Slowly and cautiously, he crept down from the attic.

Out of the shadows appeared a young boy, violet eyes as wild as his untamed chestnut hair, his face dirty and fingerpainted with grease.

The Priest dropped to a knee before him. The expression on his worn, wrinkled face and in his soft hazel eyes was one of genuine kindness; he truly had no intention of hurting anyone. He was as pure and benevolent a soul as the boy had seen in his lifetime.

"What's your name, son?" the man asked warmly.

He'd never been asked that question before, and he didn't know how to respond. Unlike Kit, no one had given him a moniker; he'd always just responded to whatever nickname they chose to use when talking to him.

But, as the surviving orphan looked upon the remains of his dearest companion, covered in dried wilted roses, daisies, and wildflowers, he had his answer.

Tears welled in his amethyst eyes as he gave his reply.

"…Duo."

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**...END CHAPTER...**

**Random AN: **I'm going to do my best to name each chapter after a song title from my music collection, just because I feel like it. Today's titles were inspired by Tantric, ("The End Begins"), and Toni Braxton, ("Breathe Again"). Yep. Useless facts FTW! You're welcome. :D


	2. Chapter 2: Leave the Light On

**Author's Notes:**

First of all, thank you to all you reviewed, alerted, and favorited! I hope you all continue to read and enjoy the story! I'm gonna start replying to individual reviews soon (I promise!) so please keep reading and reviewing! This story is a lot of work for me, so it makes me happy to know my readers are enjoying it. ^^

As always, thanks are in order to my muse and beta. You know who you are! X3

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Chapter Two: Leave the Light On

"_I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart!" _

Among a row of young kids, the once shaggy-haired and wild-eyed orphan known only as Duo was just another face in a crowd, his bright amethyst eyes sparkling as he sang and clapped along with a children's worship song.

Life in a Catholic orphanage wasn't as bad as he'd originally imagined it would be. They had cleaned him up, given him a room to call his own, and fresh new clothes to wear. And strange though they were, at least they were black. Plus, when he protested the cutting of his hair, they'd given him his way, settling for a conservative braid that tickled down his back just above the small of it.

It definitely took some adjusting, but with the help of the elderly Priest—whom he'd since come to know as Father Maxwell — and a nun known as Sister Helen, it didn't take long before young Duo came to see the Maxwell Church as his new home.

Father Maxwell and Sister Helen made it apparent that they truly cared for him, so in exchange he did his best to play along. He listened to the sermons, learned the words to the songs they sang, came to know the Catholic liturgy by heart, and even picked up the slightest bit of Latin in the process. Despite all that, he didn't believe any of what he heard. He _couldn't _believe any of it. The concept of an all-powerful benevolent being contradicted everything he'd seen in his young life, which was only pain, sadness, and death. If there truly was someone out there who saw all that happened in life, silently presiding over it all with the power to change anything at a moment's notice, then why did so many people have to die? Why were there wars, or disease? How could someone so supposedly kind let all these things go on? It didn't make sense to him, but he cared not enough to question it further.

Having been malnourished and starving for the majority of his young life, Duo took great pleasure in food and ate heartily, as well as frequently. So much so in fact that the church occasionally struggled to find ways to keep him fed. Even then, they refused to deny him anything, and they were in turn rewarded with the satisfaction of watching a once skinny, near-feral child evolve into a not just a civilized member of society, but a bright, endearing young boy with personality, charm, and wit; a boy with promise for a bright future. Within the safety and shelter of the Maxwell Church, under the loving care of the Father and Sister Helen, he truly flourished. As his figure filled out and a healthy shine returned to his ever-lengthening braid of chestnut hair, he even began to look like a normal boy.

Unfortunately, outside of the church, he was never treated like one.

Even when compared to all else Duo had been through in his life, there was still definitely nothing crueler than school children. Despite being in the strictly-governed environment of the Catholic school, their teasing and badgering of their new classmate was relentless and cruel.

In a school full of prim and proper children born to affluent, white-collar families, Duo stuck out like a sore thumb; if not because of his appearance, then because of his above-average intelligence. Despite having no previous formal education, the violet-eyed boy was extremely bright and learned quickly. In no time at all, he'd completely eclipsed all others in his class. But this only served to harbor resentment among classmates, turning Duo, an extroverted and otherwise affable child, into a social pariah. He had a simple solution for that, however: Every day the class would go to recess, and when they returned fifteen minutes later, they were always mysteriously one student short.

…

The primary goal of the Maxwell Church was the same as any orphanage: To find families for homeless children. They'd had remarkable success over the years, but young Duo was an exception, as every family the church placed him with inevitably sent him back. Each had their reasons for doing so, but the recurring themes were his tendencies toward stealing and hoarding. The last foster family to return the braided boy did so after food and various items that had gone missing were found hidden throughout his room.

Nevertheless, Father Maxwell would not be deterred, and again reached out to the Catholic community within the colony to produce yet another foster home for Duo.

They were the quintessential affluent, upper-class family; the husband, a well-known physician on the colony, and the wife, a diligent teacher-turned-homemaker who used her talents to educate their two boys herself. The children reflected the prosperity of their parents as well, both well-dressed with hair perfectly parted and gelled into place.

Indeed, they were the portrait of a stereotypical white-collar household.

And they were taking in a child with hair longer than that of most women and untamed chestnut bangs dangling over his vibrant indigo eyes. A boy who had not long ago been living in the semi-demolished attic of a condemned building, starving and filthy.

He wasn't going to fit in, that was for certain. But for Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, he'd try his best to make things work.

"God bless you for taking Duo in," Father Maxwell smiled, placing a worn palm on the young orphan's shoulder. "He's a wonderful boy; a bit mischievous at times, but very bright, and with a heart of gold. Give him some time to adjust, and I promise he'll make you very proud."

The couple's eyes shifted down from the Father's to the boy's.

"We're happy to have you, Duo," the husband spoke. "I'm Jim, and this is Sandy."

From there, the wife took over. "You'll have two new brothers to play with: Gabriel, he's five, and our oldest, Ezekiel, he's eight."

Ezekiel, who went by the shorter version "Zeke", was a domestic-looking boy with dirty blonde hair, ordinary brown eyes and a sprinkling of freckles over his cheeks and nose.

Gabriel, an extremely introverted boy who rarely made eye contact with anyone nonetheless spoke, was a near replica of his elder brother, but had his mother's green eyes and a face that was free of all mottling. His gaze settled on his feet for the entire duration of their brief introduction, and, as Duo would later find, remained fixated there for the majority of his waking hours.

Sandy chuckled nervously. "You'll have to forgive Gabriel, he's a tad bit shy."

Father Maxwell smiled down to Duo.

"Go on, son," he encouraged, giving the boy a gentle push forward with his palm, "You have a new family to meet."

Duo took two bashful steps toward his new foster family, a hand still clutching tightly at the handle of the suitcase Father Maxwell had packed full of clothes and other necessities for him. His gaze fixated on his feet, not unlike his new foster sibling. He didn't want to go. He was content with his life at the orphanage, with people who genuinely loved him and cared for him, and had stuck by his side despite his jaded outlook on life, and all his folly.

The braided boy jerked, his eyes widening in surprise as he felt the elder child take his free hand. Their gazes met, Ezekiel's soft brown locking with Duo's striking amethyst, as the older boy tugged him in the direction of the house.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this was a family that wanted him. He could only hope so.

He let Zeke lead him upstairs to his new bedroom that he would share with the younger sibling, Gabe.

But once the doors to that room closed, the boy's kind expression melted into one of contempt, his once gentle eyes hardening menacingly.

"Let's get one thing straight, rat," Zeke snapped, "This is MY house and MY family. You're only here because no one loves you and no one _wants_ you. Got that?"

As the oldest child delivered his ultimatum to the newcomer, Gabriel quietly entered, taking a seat on the bed, eyes on his lap.

"And another thing-I run the show around here. You do what I say, when I say it. Gabe learned, and I'll make sure you do, too," the brown-eyed boy whispered menacingly.

Now Duo knew why the younger sibling perpetually stared at his feet: He wasn't merely "shy" as his parents had put it, he was abused. No doubt Zeke had brutally and mercilessly manipulated the boy until his will to fight had finally broken, along with his spirit.

It may have worked on Gabriel, but if he sincerely believed he could force Duo into submission, he was sorely mistaken. The very concept of such left the violet-eyed orphan struggling to stifle his amusement.

But Zeke didn't find it funny.

In a flash, the older boy was upon him, mashing the orphan's face against the wall with his precious braid coiled around one hand. Duo drew in a breath to yell for the parents.

"Don't scream," Zeke hissed, voice as cold and piercing as a steel blade.

His headstrong young victim narrowed his violet eyes, teeth inadvertently cutting into the inside of his cheek as he growled his response. "Oh yeah? What if I do?"

"If you scream, I'll tell them it's all your fault."

"Go ahead! They won't believe you!"

The older child snickered. "Who are they gonna believe? Their own flesh and blood, or some filthy rat infesting our home?"

He had a point; Duo had no choice but to fight his own battle. Summoning all the strength he had to offer, he placed his palms on the wall and forcefully pushed off, sending his captor stumbling backward. As soon as could turn to face the boy, the young orphan balled a fist and swung a vicious right hook. It impacted the side of the boy's cheekbone with a sickening thud that masked the faint crunch of splintering bone, and took his consciousness from him.

As Zeke's frame dropped limply to the floor, Gabriel snuck up from behind and curled both arms around the braided boy's neck, pulling him backward.

"Don't hurt my brother!" He snarled as Duo instinctively clutched at the limbs curled about him that left him struggling to breathe. Duo couldn't believe _anyone_ would defend someone who had been so cruel to them. Apparently family ties ran deep.

In a move Solo had taught him during one of their playful sparring sessions, the young orphan hunched down and propelled his attacker over his head, sending him sprawling flat on his back with a massive thump and a cry of pain. A noise the parents undoubtedly heard. That meant that, once again, it was time for him to run away.

Putting the dim grays of a fabricated sunset to his back, he fled, running until he could see the familiar glow of the lights through stained glass windows casting colorful shadows on the ground.

…

That night, Sister Helen went back to clean Duo's former room, as instructed.

She dreaded the task, and not because of its tediousness, but because it pained her to be reminded that he was gone. She missed the twinkle of his big, expressive indigo eyes, his playful smile, the sound of his laugh, his boisterous voice, and even his occasionally…_inappropriate_ commentary. Things were all too quiet without the presence of that inquisitive little braided-haired boy around.

As where most people saw the boy as a defiant, rebellious child with a tragic past whose flaws couldn't be fixed, she saw beyond that to the core of him. He put up a tough front, but she knew that underneath his exterior was an endearing, brilliant little boy who deserved the best of life, and had only seen the worst.

In Duo she'd found the son she'd always longed to have, but because her situation didn't permit her to take the boy on as her own, she settled instead for treating him as though he were. Most every night after all the others were asleep, she would return to his room to tuck him in, read him scripture, tell him a bedtime story, and sometimes to listen to him talk. She felt an uncanny connection with him unlike anything she'd experienced with other children.

It was that same connection in particular that made her dread having to be the one to clean his empty quarters. The room where on more than one occasion she'd discreetly checked up on him to make sure he was sleeping soundly through the night was now merely a vacant space; the place where he _used_ to be.

As she approached the closed door to that room, she shoved those thoughts from her mind, assuring herself that Duo was in a better place. In fact, he was probably so happy in his new home that he hadn't given her a second thought, and miss him though she did, she was glad. After all, he deserved a much better life than a church orphanage could give him.

Solemnly, she opened the door to his room, her gaze immediately falling upon his never-made bed, the thin comforter perfectly outlining a mysterious lump beneath it. Dangling beyond one of its edges, the Sister could faintly see a tuft of chestnut hair.

"Duo?"

Her ears waited for a reply, but instead picked up on the muffled sound of sniffling. Tiny fingers lifted the blanket just enough for a single tear-stained violet eye to be seen.

"Duo, why are you here?"

The boy concealed himself once more. "Just pretend you don't see me…please…" he murmured.

The Sister sighed softly, "Why did you run away from home?"

"Don't make me go back there! Please..!" Young Duo begged through sobs. "Just let me stay here with you and Father Max..!"

Taking a seat on the bed, Sister Helen pulled back the sheets to reveal the braided boy curled up into a fetal ball, reddened amethyst eyes looking up at her pleadingly. From the look of them, he'd been crying for quite some time. She'd never seen the boy so upset before; the sight of him in such a state pulled on her heart.

"Dear me, child…is it really that bad?"

Without a word of response, the boy clung to her like a lifeline. She returned the embrace, shushing and soothing him quietly, rocking his tiny, shuddering frame in her arms as he wept.

"I'll talk to Father Maxwell, okay?" She assured. It was enough to cease his sobbing. "Rest here for tonight. It's far too late for you to be going outside." He pulled away and gave her a meek nod, scrubbing at his bloodshot eyes with his knuckles.

Once again, Sister Helen tucked Duo into bed.

…

When morning came and the news of the unexpected return reached Father Maxwell, he paid a visit to the boy's room with Sister Helen in tow, who took a seat beside him on the bed.

"Duo, don't you see the Lord has afforded you a great chance to have a family?" the Priest began, his voice genuine and kind.

Duo's eyes turned down. Although Father Maxwell meant no harm, the young boy couldn't help but feel as though he was being scolded.

"You do want a family, don't you?"

"Why can't you just let me stay?" The boy finally snapped, his voice crackling as tears brimmed his indigo orbs once again. "Why does everyone only wanna get rid of me..?"

The words drove a stake into the chest of the nun, making her latch onto the child tightly. "Nobody wants to get rid of you, Duo," she whispered softly into his ear, "We just want the best for you."

"Then don't send me back there!" He sobbed into the worn black cotton of her habit.

Father Maxwell exhaled with a slight noise and placed a calm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I'll make you a deal, son," he offered. Duo glanced at him from the corner of one tear-stained eye. "No more making crude noises during sermons, and no more playing around in the confessionals. If you can do that for me, you can stay."

The boy nodded vigorously in reply. He would have given anything and all to stay, so sacrificing two of his favorite pranks was a small price to pay for being back in the orphanage. Sister Helen and Father Maxwell were the only people who truly loved him and believed in him. They were understanding, and stood by his side no matter the circumstance. Even when Zeke and Gabe's furious father came to inform them of Duo's malevolence, Father Maxwell was steadfast in professing the child's innocence.

"Duo's a good boy," the Priest stated sternly.

"That _boy_ of yours is a monster! He left my eldest son with a zygomatic break(1), and you call him _good_?" The enraged husband bellowed.

"I assure you, he would never act violently without provocation," the clergyman explained.

"I'd _sue you_ if I wasn't so sure you were crazy!"

With a shake of his head the man abruptly exited in a huff, never to return.

…

And so, life was good for Duo again, just as it had always been while under the care of Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. Many happy months passed and children came and went, but the violet-eyed boy never longed to stray. He had a home, and the family he had always wanted right there in the orphanage. As time went on, he even forgot about the deal he still had yet to uphold his end of.

Until a day came that forever changed his life.

A nauseating mixture of the stench of blood, smoke, and charred flesh hung heavy in the air where the church had once been. A slew of indiscernible broken bodies were strewn amongst chunks of rubble, their faces permanently displaying the pain and surprise of their deaths.

Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were among them.

As he had with so many of his friends, Duo tried to save them. Once again, it was all for naught; once again, they all passed while he lived on.

First Solo and Kit, and then Father Maxwell and Sister Helen…they had nothing in common.

…Except him.

And for the first time since the day he'd first seen the black shadow, felt the bone-chilling cold, and heard that ominous voice, he remembered his promise.

Amethyst eyes turned skyward as his voice bellowed up to the heavens.

"Where are you?" the boy screamed, his shouts wavering with tears. "Show yourself, dammit! I got a bone to pick with you!"

There was only silence. Duo sank to his knees, disregarding the soot and dust he sat in.

"I don't want this anymore," he whispered, words broken by sobs, "…take it back."

But there was no darkness, no mysterious voice, and no unearthly cold; only himself, the stench of death and destruction, and the distant shouts of men.

"Do you hear me? I said take it back!"

As soldiers came and pulled him from the wreckage, he clutched a treasure he'd found among the remains tightly to his chest. It was the one thing that he could use to remember them by: a golden cross dangling from a matching chain. On the reverse of it was an engraving: _"Maxwell."_

He would carry it with him forevermore.

**

* * *

**

**ANs:**

-"Zygomatic break": This is a fracture to the zygomatic bone of the skull. In Zeke's case, it would be a fracture of the zygomatic arch. Nicely done, Duo! ^_-

-Random factoid: The issues Duo has in his foster homes are taken from real-life experiences. My cousin was adopted at an age close to Duo's, and had all of these problems/issues. They _can_ be overcome, but it takes a lot more time and patience than most parents have.

Chapter title inspired by: _"Leave the Light On" by Beth Hart, from the 2003 album of the same name._

_This chapter dedicated in part to…_

_Chris Wilson_

_6/18/1986 – 10/09/2010_

_Family friend and fellow anime/video game enthusiast. Thanks for the memories…_


	3. Chapter 3: Death and All His Friends

**Author's Notes:  
**Whoa! Long chapter ahoy! We've got a lot to cover, and I didn't want to drag it out into multiple chapters and slow everything down. So pardon the skippy, jumbly flow and the massive amount of reading! If you like it, please, PLEASE review! Nothing makes me happier and more inspired to write! X3

* * *

Chapter Three: Death and All His Friends

Within a poverty-stricken L2 colony, a crowded street bustled with activity, as it always had. Merchants peddled their wares, customers haggled, and acquaintances casually conversed as the sea of people hurried about. Silently observing them all from atop a concrete ledge was a pre-teen boy with a braided rope of chestnut brown hair and indigo eyes that peered out from under a worn black ballcap. A golden cross dangled from his neck, contrasting the solid dark color of his clothing. In one hand he held the item that would likely be his only meal of the day: a bright red apple. Taking a brief moment to dust the item off on the fabric of his pants beforehand, he eagerly took a healthy bite into its skin.

Every day for the last several months he came to this place and perched atop the same ledge, even if for no other reason than to watch and listen to the crowd below. By doing so, he'd run across a number of interesting stories, but none more intriguing than those based around what was termed the "Maxwell Church Tragedy."

In the time after the incident at the Maxwell Church, word of a lone survivor spread throughout the colony. Rumor held that after single-handedly destroying the church, he'd disappeared into the shadows, never to be found. "Shinigami incarnate", they called him; a God of Death walking the world of the living, taking lives without preference, or remorse. No one could confirm or deny the existence of the fabled individual, and no one wanted to; the very concept alone spooked people out of further investigation. Over time, the stories surrounding him became something of a folk legend, the tales of his exploits becoming more chilling and more embellished with each passing year.

Rather than finding it humorous or offensive, Duo saw the overall depiction as being not too far from accurate. After all, he couldn't deny that Death did seem to stick closely by his side, taking everyone he knew while he himself lived on. The theory was only further proved when word reached him that the physician and his family had perished in a tragic accident. Not just Zeke and Gabe, but the entire lot of them; which meant that not only did he have no relatives, but not even so much as a single living acquaintance. Everyone who had come into contact with him had died.

While it made for a lonely life, he didn't let that bother him much. He was quite capable of taking care of himself, since he'd been on his own more often than not. Being alone gave him the ability to focus on the debt he still had yet to repay, and the ever-shrinking amount of borrowed time he was living on until he did so. And so he continued to scour the colony in search of the nameless boy he was fated to kill, leaving no stone unturned. But years of searching had still left him empty-handed.

In what spare time he had he occupied his curious mind by tinkering, often taking discarded items apart and putting them back together just to learn how they worked. Years of this made him an expert at making something out of nothing, and afforded him the chance to learn a few other handy skills, such as lock-picking, hacking, and defusing explosives. With those talents, there was truly nowhere in the colony that was off-limits to him, as he could break into locked areas and disable standard security systems with ease. But, even with his search area completely unrestricted, the boy whose demise would erase the numbers from Duo's days was still nowhere to be found. No wonder he'd been given a decade…

As Duo was taking another mouthful of his meal, one clear voice rose above the crowd, the words freezing him mid-bite.

"_Did you hear? A huge ship just pulled into the spaceport!"_

A ship? That couldn't be. The colony's lone spaceport was all but abandoned, since no one wanted to come to such a poverty-stricken area, and those who dreamt of leaving hadn't the means. Beneath the bill of his ballcap, the boy perked a brow. The statement couldn't be rumor; rumors so far-fetched didn't circulate often, so perhaps there was some validity to it. Either way, he was going to investigate the matter.

…

As he neared the spaceport, he could clearly see a massive shuttle, obviously used for long-distance space travel, had indeed made what looked to be an awkward crash-landing on the colony. From his vantage point, Duo could see the flickers and flashes of welding within the open engine compartment, which meant that whoever had come on the ship wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

There were any number of useful things aboard the ship, and it was a sitting duck; the perfect prey. All he had to do was get by two busy mechanics, a task he could accomplish while sleepwalking. Then it would be all his for the taking.

Tucking his treasured golden cross into his clothing, he slunk off toward it.

...

Just as he thought, he was inside in a flash, and no one suspected a thing. It took a matter of moments to bypass the ship's security system, as his typical methods proved unsuccessful in disabling the complex alarms. The reason warranting such extreme measures for protecting a mere long-distance shuttle was a mystery to him, but that bode well for what he could find onboard.

Secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't be triggering an alarm, he began to contemplate what he'd gather from the ship. The first thing to come to mind was the first thing that _usually _came to mind: Food. Common sense told him that a vessel built for long-distance travel would have a considerably-sized cooler for storing edible items somewhere, and it didn't take him long to find it.

Inside the massive walk-in refrigeration unit was more food than he'd seen in all the shops on his home colony: Everything from meats to milk, fresh produce, and even sweets. As his amethyst eyes took it all in, he silently scolded himself for not bringing a box, bag, or some other means of carrying the food out. Apparently he'd have to resort to another means.

As he went about gathering up what he wanted, he could hear the sound of voices and footsteps approaching. All of a sudden, the once quiet ship became deafeningly loud as a great rumbling and whining began to emanate from under his feet. Were they taking off? Impossible! They had just been welding in the engine bay only a few minutes ago!

Duo began to feel the ground come out from underneath him as the shuttle began to ascend, a sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. With an increased roar from the engines the ship abruptly accelerated, sending the boy tumbling to the floor with a thump. The good news was that no one could have possibly noticed it; nobody on board could likely hear themselves _think_ over the near-deafening rumbling noise resounding through the cabin.

Or so he thought.

Thinking something had fallen and spilled in the cooler, two crewmen aboard the ship went to investigate and clean up the mess.

When they opened the door, they were shocked and baffled by the sight of a boy in all black as he darted out between them, a rope of braided brunette hair whipping behind him as he fled.

Duo had certainly gotten himself in a fine mess. He had only intended to pilfer a few things, and instead he'd become trapped aboard a ship destined for who knew where. If he was going to make it out without being captured, he needed a place to hide, and quickly. But where would he go?

The cargo bay.

It was dimly lit, expansive, and in a vessel of such great size, probably littered with fun places to disappear. Keeping his footfalls light against the floor, he scurried off toward the rear of the ship.

But what he found there, he wasn't expecting.

As he approached the balcony railing lining the expansive cargo hold, he found himself staring down at a monster.

It was a gigantic mobile suit. Even largely unassembled, it easily dwarfed the biggest he'd seen, or even heard of. Massive and menacing, it peered up at him from the ship's floor with a vaguely humanoid face devoid of all expression. Exposed gears and circuits protruded beyond black outer plating in various places where construction was apparently ongoing, though the upper half of the suit appeared to be at least somewhat pieced together.

As he stared at it its eyes briefly came to life, flickering at him with a bright and unmistakable green that temporarily cut through the darkness of the cargo bay.

Duo blinked rapidly. _'So it's operational,' _he thought, _'I could steal the suit and make my escape!'_

He hopped over the balcony railing and made his way toward it, heading for the open door at the base of the suit's semi-completed torso.

As soon as he was inside and seated within the pilot's chair, a flashing cursor began to spell out blocky white text along a fuzzy black screen to his right.

"_User interface loading…please wait._

_Interface loading failed. Retrying._

_Please wait…_

…

…

_Loading successful._

_Project G-01D user interface online. _

_Enter command: "_

'_Project G-01D? What the hell is this thing?'_ Duo thought.

All around him were primitive metal consoles filled with endless rows of buttons and switches, none of which were labeled or had any other indication of their purpose. Not having any idea where to begin, he grabbed the nearest lever to him-a joystick-like device to his right—and yanked it backward.

The giant beast whined and whirred as it strained to move, but with so many circuits yet to be connected, the result was a small shift, nearly undetectable.

…except to sensors within the cargo bay that alerted crewmen manning the ship's cockpit.

Up on deck, two men sat behind a sea of elaborate instrumentation panels, monitoring the shuttle's navigation. All had been peaceful until one screen abruptly began flashing red and complaining loudly.

"Professor! There's movement within the cargo bay!" One of them called back over his shoulder.

"Probably just a rat we picked up on that hellhole of a colony," came the reply. "Pay it no mind."

"It's a…little bit bigger than that," the other crewman said cautiously.

Curiously, the Professor approached, turning his eyes to the screen. He could only blink in disbelief at what was displayed. "Impossible! That thing is in far too many pieces to move! The user interface isn't even operational yet!"

…

"Come on buddy, help me out here…" Duo grunted as he gave another level a strong pull, completely overlooking the fact that he was speaking to a machine. "You can do it…"

Again the mobile suit whined and whirred, only to fail.

"God_dammit!_" the boy hissed. "Guess I'll have to figure something else out…"

He rose from the suit's seat and exited, intending to find a place he could hide until the ship landed. Unfortunately, once outside, he was greeted with the nearby sound of the safety of a handgun being released. He had company.

"Don't move a muscle, kid. The joyride's over."

…

The same pair of men who had originally discovered the stowaway hauled him up on deck, kicking and screaming all the while. There, Duo and his captors found three men waiting: One in what looked to be worn military fatigues and another, much younger man in faded blue coveralls with large glasses. They both flanked a short older man in a white lab coat with a massive lampshade of grey hair atop his head. Duo could easily distinguish a thick scar on his cheek, just beside his bulbous nose.

As he discovered, the ship he'd snuck aboard belonged to an organization called the Sweeper Group, who had been covertly conspiring to launch an attack on the Alliance. The monster they were hiding was the centerpiece of such plans; a massive mobile suit built by their hands that they hoped could be used to eventually bring about peace.

During their interrogation of their unexpected guest, the eldest man noticed something about the boy that struck him, though he couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps it was the way he seemed undaunted by his capture, remaining headstrong and indignant even when he knew he could be put to death for his misdeeds. Maybe it was the fact that the boy had not only bypassed the Sweepers' most advanced alarm system, but had somehow made it to the cargo bay and got Project G-01D to _move_.

And perhaps it was how he'd identified himself as the God of Death.

He was an impetuous little brat, for certain; but he was also either very skilled, or extremely lucky. In the end, the older man merely stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and stalked off with his two counterparts in tow.

"Find a way to confine him for now," he dismissed in raspy monotone. "We'll decide what to do with him when we return. Don't let him out of your sight; a kid skilled enough to bypass my security system can likely find a way out of most any place we put him."

At once, the same armed men who had first caught the boy began dragging him away once more, this time to stuff him into a tiny holding cell. "Hey! Wait!" Their captive protested, but the trio of interrogators disregarded his cries, continuing down a long corridor.

"Gentlemen, there's been a change of plan: We've found our pilot for Project G-01D," the shortest man informed flatly.

The youngest scientist trotted ahead of his gray-haired comrade and began gesticulating wildly as he spoke. "But sir, Project G-01D _has_ a pilot! We've put years into training him!"

"We may have, but this young scamp is much better suited for our plans. I can see it in his eyes."

"Are you _mad_, G? I'm beginning to wonder if your age is starting to erode your sanity," the tallest man in fatigues snapped. "You're speaking pure nonsense."

G chuckled, his stride never faltering. "Nonsense or not, this isn't a discussion. The boy _will_ pilot Project G-01D."

"You're basing this off of some kind of crazy hunch? What the hell did you see in his eyes?"

A grin spread across the eldest man's face as he answered. "A boy who has nothing to lose."

…

"Come on, I was just lookin' for a way out! I didn't _steal_ nothin'! Lemme outta here!" Duo howled as he pitifully shook the steel bars of the cell he was contained in.

Again, the man with the lampshade of grey hair emerged from the dimly-lit corridor, hands casually in his pockets. His two comrades still flanked him.

"Have you piloted a mobile suit, kid?" the lab coated man asked.

"Nuh uh."

The men exchanged glances. "Then how did you get Project G-01D to move?" The youngest inquired.

"I…pulled some levers?"

"Did the system come online?" the man in coveralls persisted.

The boy perked a brow. "Huh? What system?"

"The user interface system! Did it come online?"

"Oh…" Duo put an index finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, it _did_ say 'Enter command'…why?"

The youngest engineer gasped. "Unbelievable! We've spent _months_ trying to get that system to come online and the piece of junk always fails!"

The stowaway simply shrugged. "Guess you gotta quit trying so hard."

G smirked. "I like you, kid. If you're interested, I might just let you pilot that suit again. How's that sound?"

…

As it turned out, the Sweeper Group hadn't been far from home when they made their unexpected landing. At the far reaches of the L2 Colony Cluster was one of their primary bases of operation, which was the place of residence for members of the Sweepers and their immediate families. The group's massive production facility was located within a colony that was devoid of civilians and had been listed some time ago as uninhabitable. The label hadn't come without good cause, either; the Sweepers' colony was even more dilapidated than Duo's home had been. Here, there was no sunrise or set, no dawn or dusk; outside of the main structure, the colony itself only offered a semi-stable temperature, and 24-hour perpetual simulated daylight.

In addition to being the place of residence for members of the Sweepers and their immediate families, the base was home for the lot of the construction for the massive Project G-01D mobile suit. Project G-01D had been their largest undertaking by far, and had posed several problems for the developers. So many in fact, that members of the build team had begun blueprinting a different model, codenamed _"Project G-01D2."_ However, having a new pilot to train diverted all attention away from the endeavor.

…

The initial months of Duo's training brought about dramatic changes in both his mind and body as the Sweepers instituted a rigorous training regimen comprised of several different components.

To start his hand-to-hand combat training, he was given a sparring partner that he met with on a daily basis; a man easily twice his age and size, with strength unmatched by his opponent. Being accomplished in many martial arts styles made him disciplined and precise…two things Duo most certainly was _not._ As a result, the first few weeks with him were a grueling punishment. The man was too tall to hit above the chest and too heavy to be thrown, which removed all of Duo's existing skill sets, leaving him with nothing but pure tenacity to back him. Headstrong and fearless, the boy would attempt to go blow-for-blow with his skilled adversary, and consistently failed.

Despite that, every time he was knocked down, he rose again. Battered and bleeding, he would gather himself upright and fight back the pain of his injuries to persist on. Often, he did so only to be put onto the ground once more. The cycle continued on for weeks until he broke the habits of what he'd learned in the past, and together they refined Duo's guerrilla style of combat to make it controlled, precise, and deadly. The boy learned to use his superior speed and agility to his advantage, and in time, the pair became evenly matched.

…

The youngest member of the development staff, whom Duo came to know as Simon Samuels, chief software designer for Project G-01D, was in charge of conducting simulated mobile suit combat training. Mastering the complex piloting system Samuels had developed was a time-consuming process that the young trainee devoted much of his days to. Not only did he need to become familiar with all the controls involved, but also needed to become accustomed to the movements of a mobile suit. He spent hours in simulators while Samuels recorded the battle data, charting combat habits, reaction times, and marking improvements.

…

Over time, Duo's spunk and boisterous personality grew on the lot of his fellow Sweepers, including many of his handlers. Despite that, there still remained one man who couldn't tolerate him.

It was one of the men who had first laid sight on the boy. His name was Franz Kozchek, a retired military General with many years of experience training soldiers. A great, massive tower of a man always dressed in worn fatigues, he was as intimidating as he was strict. Given his background, he oversaw much of Duo's physical and tactical training.

As where he and the other trainers once employed traditional methods that used a reasonable amount of caution and discretion, when confronted with training such a headstrong and spirited boy, Kozchek deviated from this approach. Instead, he took to placing Duo in situations where one foot wrong meant physical harm, citing that fear of injury would improve prospect performance.

Given Kozchek's military background, the young pilot saw nothing unusual or superfluous about the man's methods. The truth of his handler's sentiments about him impacting the intensity of his training occurred to him not even once. But not everyone was so naïve, and it was only a matter of time before G investigated the matter.

As the pair sat reviewing Duo's training progress, Professor G gave his comrade a small nod. "You've done an excellent job maximizing his potential," he commented, "Well done, Kozchek."

"Potential?" Kozchek snorted. "The first time we put him in a zero gravity simulator he threw up; yet you still say he has potential?"

"You would have too if you were in his position," G deflected.

The former General huffed, folding his arms defensively. "On top of that, he's still undersized."

"Size isn't a factor when you can kill a target from 50 yards away with a gun or knife. His reaction times in mobile suit battle are near perfect, and he's an ambidextrous shooter with unmatched accuracy in either hand."

"He's a reckless hair-trigger with no discipline," Kozchek grumbled.

The Professor paused, turning toward the other. "He's also an excellent hand-to-hand fighter who has proven he can hold his own against a much larger opponent, or a group of them. All this in less time than it took to train the previous pilot, who was far inferior." He narrowed a dark eye at the former General viciously. "Tell me…what do you have against the boy?"

…_flashback….. _

_Kozchek didn't agree with G's sudden autocratic move to discard the previous pilot in favor of a new prospect. Snap decisions made solely on impulses or hunches never bode well for anyone. The new young pilot was no exception. Having never been faced with taking orders, Duo wasn't much for taking them. He was stubborn and undisciplined, and set in his foolish ways no matter the cost. _

_But Kozchek's biggest problem with the boy was something entirely different._

_He wouldn't stop grinning. There wasn't anything maniacal about it, but the fact that someone could bear that expression throughout such grueling training insulted him._

_The previous pilot—the pilot they'd selected as a team—had at least shown an ounce of humility and submission. But not this boy. Even with his chestnut hair matted with blood and dirt, he still smirked. How could someone so headstrong and defiant possibly be expected to obey the plans for Operation Meteor? _

_In an effort to bring about a change in the young trainee's behavior, he lined traps and obstacles with razor wire, and used live explosives in situations where they were unnecessary. But even when he suffered injury, he would merely wipe the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and gather himself upright once more, grinning all the while. _

_It was infuriating. _

_As Duo finished one of the daily drills set up for him, he trotted toward the former General, chestnut braid wagging behind him. Slowing to a stop, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a bare forearm and curled over, putting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath._

_Despite the fact that he had performed flawlessly, Kozchek still only had three words for the boy: "Do it again." _

_Amethyst eyes lifted to the trainer's face. He had to be joking. He was, wasn't he?_

"_And get it right this time," the man instructed coldly._

"_Get it right?" the boy huffed, "I got through it without a single mistake!"_

"_Now do it faster."_

_The braided boy gave the former General a look of disbelief._

"_You've got to be faster, Maxwell. Speed can save your life if you get into a bad situation."_

_Again, Kozchek was greeted with that abhorrent smirk he so despised. _

"_Right," his trainee nodded, bringing himself upright. "I'll give it another go."_

_He'd wipe that stupid expression off Duo's face if it was the death of them both. _

…_..end flashback…_

"Nothing," Kozchek finally answered. The delay of the reply made the true response apparent.

"If you have a problem with Duo's behavior, you come to me with it. Understand that, Kozchek? Treat him fairly, or I won't hesitate to have you blacklisted from the Sweepers."

Hearing the ultimatum, Kozchek turned to the Professor and gave the same menacing stare he'd previously received. "You may have faith in him now, but mark my words, G…the boy _won't_ go along with Operation Meteor."

…

Amidst all the other goings-on, Professor G personally continued Duo's formal education. The boy's intelligence made him remarkably easy to teach, and having a one-on-one relationship allowed for G to tailor the curricula to match his student's skills. In no time at all, he was working mathematical equations at high levels, and had even picked up conversational phrases in multiple languages.

During his time with Professor G and the Sweepers, Duo grew from the scraggly stowaway he once was to an aesthetically pleasing young man. In time, he towered over G himself, as he frequently reminded the Professor with playful jests and jabs. His voice had deepened, finally shedding its childlike qualities in favor of something far more masculine. In addition, the long hours of rigorous training turned his body from that of a gawky pre-teen boy to one of a young athlete. Lean muscle had gathered along his arms and chest, giving him a more filled-out and adult appearance. He felt better and healthier than ever before, and looked positively fantastic. So much so that he began to grow something of a slight ego.

Under the Professor's oversight, not only did Duo flourish as an individual, but also as an assassin. Years of marksmanship training had ensured he was deadly accurate with both a gun and a knife at long and short ranges. He could hit and kill a moving target at 150 yards away, and if his mission required him to hide, he could become a mere specter in a moment's notice. The boy was as much a weapon as the mobile suit he'd pilot.

…

Another long day of training behind him, Duo retired to his quarters for a quick shower before heading to bed. As he pulled his black ribbed tank top over his head, he could see a spatter of crimson staining his chest below his left collarbone. It had long since dried and didn't pain him at all, but apparently it had bled considerably enough to paint his treasured cross and its chain in various spots. No matter; it'd all easily wash off.

After undoing his yard of braided hair, he twisted on the water and stepped into its inviting spray. The soothing warm water coursed over his body, revealing the site where all the blood had come from: A long cut, parallel to his left collarbone. It appeared superficial, and didn't trouble him beyond a slight stinging as he agitated the wound with his touch. He didn't recall obtaining the injury…so where had it come from?

Oh. Right. He'd trained with Kozchek today. Funny how that man was the only handler he got hurt while working with… He even received fewer injuries from his gargantuan sparring partner.

Come to think of it, the scars on his shoulders and sides were all from Kozchek's training sessions, too. Still, it couldn't be anything more than coincidence. Besides, pain was only a temporary obstacle to be overcome, anyway. Or at least, that's what he'd been taught.

Wait, who was using all the hot water? Why did the temperature suddenly drop?

He reached downward to adjust the temperature of the shower, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the liquid pooling around his feet was noticeably dark; specifically, a deep shade of pink.

…like diluted blood.

Instinctively, his eyes and hands searched his body for the source. He had to be bleeding somewhere, somehow.

There it was, on his chest; the cut below his collarbone. Only this time it wasn't a cut, it was a number. The number two.

What did it mean to him?

_That's all the time you have left, boy. Better get moving…_

Two years left? Had it really been that long? He had let himself lose track of time…

Crimson liquid rushed from the wound, flooding into the water below, making it darker.

His hands clutched at the site of the bleeding, applying pressure, trying to stem the flow as the scarlet seeped between his fingers, unimpeded.

He threw back the shower curtain to search for a towel he could use to stop the hemorrhage…

…and jerked upright in bed, violet eyes wide and wary, chestnut bangs adhered to his forehead by a fine layer of sweat. His trembling hands clutched tightly to the injury, fingertips white with pressure he applied to the seeping wound on his chest.

But, as he looked down, the wound was gone; there was just his cross, pinned tightly against him by his own hands. What a strange dream… Still, it wouldn't be enough to deter him from sleep.

Unfortunately, as soon as he pulled up the comforter and nestled himself back onto the mattress, there was a knock on the door. Just his luck.

"Duo?"

It was Samuels.

"Duo, as soon as you get up, G wants you to meet him in bay one. It's important."

Grousing to himself under his breath, he threw back the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep was overrated anyhow.

…

"What's up?" the braided figure chirped as he approached his lab-coated comrade in the expansive mobile suit bay.

He leaned an elbow down on the shoulder of the scientist who casually stepped out from underneath it, nearly sending half-awake Duo toppling over in the process.

"You'll be happy to know Project G-01D is nearly complete," Professor G replied, a grin evident in his voice.

Duo put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one side casually. "Well…have you named it?"

"You don't name _things_," the Professor retorted, his tone baring a slight hint of amusement.

"Sure you do!"

The boy was serious. G perked an eyebrow, and decided to indulge him. "I presume you've thought of one, then?"

"I had something in mind, yeah," the young trainee smirked, the corners of his indigo eyes narrowing jovially.

"And what would that be?"

Duo's grin widened as his gaze scanned over the massive suit. "…_Deathscythe_."

The scientist stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. "I suppose it's a fitting name. Fine then—we'll call it Deathscythe."

He turned to the boy. "I want you ready for launch in twenty minutes."

At a loss for words, the young pilot could only blink in reply.

"You've got to become accustomed to operating in both normal and zero gravity," Professor G instructed. "We've provided the best training possible, but that is still no exception for experience. Now, this suit isn't ready for space, so it'll be a bit unwieldy, but I think you'll manage."

"Wait—are you sure?"

"There's only so much experience a simulator can provide, Duo. Just don't pick any fights, and whatever you do, make sure you avoid detection. Engage the suit's cloaking device, and prepare for launch."

…

The finished cockpit smelled of freshly-soldered metal and new plastic. It was a horrible, nauseating blend that stung his nostrils. But all that faded once the engines started and the completed piloting system came online for the first time. Despite the countless hours he'd spent in a simulated cockpit, there was still nothing at all quite like being inside an actual mobile suit. _His_ mobile suit. His _Gundam_.

The pilot interface was amazing. It performed just like it was supposed to, with all three screens working synchronously to give him a clear perspective of his surroundings. Over the quiet hum of the suit's engines, he could hear the occasional click or beep of notification from multiple data feedback devices that kept a constant monitoring of location, orientation, and engine output status, among others.

Fastening himself into the harness, he found the button to engage the suit's hyper jammers. Before him, the gate opened. He was beyond it with a mere flick of his wrist. Apparently Deathscythe had a lot more power than he'd originally thought.

Once outside, he lost his breath. He'd never been out in open space before. His body was weightless; the only thing holding him in place being the straps of the harness over his shoulders. The hum of the engines and routine clicks and beeps of the suit's various notifications faded to white noise, and beyond that was only silence. Nothing in his life had ever been nearly as enchanting and blissful.

"Just you and me out here, Deathscythe…" he sighed.

Adrift in an infinite obsidian sea speckled with stars and colonies, it suddenly struck him:

He had two years left, and his target could be _anywhere_.

* * *

**Other ANs:**

Chapter title inspired by "Viva La Vida (or Death and All His Friends)" – Coldplay.

Other tracks used: "At the Bottom" – Beth Hart; "The Other Side" – Pendulum; "Rebirth & Reverse" – Abingdon Boys School.


End file.
